Not All Chocolate and Cuckoo Clocks

by Rebecca Cohen

  Mark examined the picture closely. The Waggis wore a blue jacket over a stripy top and cutoff trousers with long socks. “Are those clogs?”

  “Yes.”

  “People dress up like this and run about the street for fun?” The huge head must’ve been made of papier-mâché, and while it might not be as heavy as it looked, it couldn’t be comfortable to wear.

  “Of course. I was known to do it myself when I was younger. I had some very pleasant encounters after accosting a willing victim with Räppli—that’s confetti to you.”

  Something about Steffen’s wistful smile made Mark think he was reliving one of those encounters. Mark had not been prepared for such an admission. He’d been used to playful teasing with his workmates back in England, but so far his experience with his Swiss colleagues was that they were far more reserved. Friday nights back in Reading saw everyone pile down the pub, the conversation often turning to banter, but that didn’t happen here. Maybe Steffen’s time living outside of Switzerland had left him with some permanent changes.

  “Is that so? Perhaps the good mothers of Basel should warn their daughters about you.”

  “Their daughters are safe.” Steffen cocked an eyebrow and leaned in. “It’s their sons they should be mindful of.”

  Steffen’s mobile began to vibrate, and Mark quickly handed it back.

  “Scheisse,” spat Steffen. “Sorry, I have to take it. There are some people I work with who cannot function without a nursemaid.”

  Steffen rattled off a stream of German as he answered. Mark’s grasp of the language was too poor for him to understand, but the general tone was not positive. Steffen broke off for a moment. “I am sorry, Mark. I have to deal with something. Maybe I can rescue you from the piccolos tomorrow?”

  “I… er… sure.”

  “Excellent. Meet me at seven at the Marktplatz tram stop.” Steffen grabbed his coat and headed out.

  Mark stared after him, wondering what he’d agreed to. He was single, and Steffen had made it very clear he was into men. Beyond that Mark hadn’t a clue. Maybe Basel was going to give him more than the valuable work experience his boss had waved under his nose as a reason to accept the assignment.

  Chapter Two

  THE DAY had been brutal. Mark hadn’t even had time to grab a sandwich for lunch. He’d been stuck in the middle of an argument between the client’s project manager and his own boss. He’d reworked scenario after scenario, fielded calls where he was shouted at and then apologized to, and sent more emails in a single day than ever before. It had taken every ounce of his experience to stay calm and not lose his temper, but his boss’s parting words of “Good job today, Mark” as she left for the evening made it all worthwhile. Maybe he wouldn’t fuck up his secondment after all.

  Finally Mark shut down his laptop. It was nearly six thirty, and he was one of only a handful left in the office. He retreated to the bathroom to reapply his deodorant and put on a fresh but somewhat crumpled shirt. At least being busy meant he’d not had the opportunity to overthink what meeting up with Steffen meant. Was it a date? Or was Steffen just being friendly with his offer to show Mark around Basel? He needed to stop second-guessing everything; when he was younger he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Back then if a night out ended up with great sex, it was a bonus, if not, then so be it—no big deal. But he’d relegated those types of night to the past when he left university. Sometimes being an adult was not worth the effort.

  Mark debated for a moment if he should take his laptop with him, but the chances of him working later were remote, and he needed some time away from the computer, if only to stop seeing dancing spreadsheets every time he closed his eyes. Besides, he hoped the evening would involve having a drink or two, preferably over dinner, and while the alcohol might help with creative strategizing, it didn’t lend itself to the detailed changes he needed to work on.

  At least he didn’t have to wait long for a tram. The number eight arrived exactly when the overhead sign said it would, and Mark hurried aboard, silently thanking the Swiss transport system, which in his limited experience was living up to the hype. He could get used to traveling by tram. It beat the overcrowded and often smelly buses he had to rely on back in Reading. Even at the tail end of rush hour, he wasn’t able to get a seat on this tram, but at least he wasn’t crushed up between a baggage rail and his fellow passengers.

  He was a little disappointed when he got off the tram to see Steffen had yet to arrive. It was only a minute or so after seven, but there was something very Swiss about arriving on time. Perhaps this was another thing that made Steffen different from his countrymen. Mark bounced on the balls of his feet to keep warm and fend off the biting cold evening air, his breath escaping as wisps of gray. Marktplatz was one of his favorite places in the city, the cobbled square overlooked by the Rathaus, which was a town hall like no other he’d ever seen. Back in Reading the council offices were housed in a modern monstrosity, but not in Basel. No, here the magnificent red edifice rose out of the square like a brightly painted warrior. The bright colors of its walls set the lively figures painted on it in stark contrast, and that was just the outside. The inner courtyard’s mural had made him gasp on first visit.

  A number six tram pulled up. Steffen alighted, holding up his hands in apology as he approached. “Sorry, sorry. The tram was delayed at Messeplatz. I really think they need to do something about the service. It is getting worse.”

  “You were all of three minutes late, hardly a national emergency.”

  “You cannot let standards slide, Mark. Next thing you know they will be changing the tram routes. Then what? Anarchy!”

  Mark couldn’t make up his mind if Steffen was joking or not. “How did you survive living in the UK? I don’t think I’ve ever caught a bus running to time.”

  “I was in Cambridge—I biked everywhere, and whenever I had to venture onto public transport, I had to protect my Swiss sensibilities with a personal mantra that it was only temporary and I would be safe back in the shadow of the Alps before I knew it.”

  “Shadow of the Alps?” Mark laughed. “Basel’s a bit too north for that.”

  “I studied computer science, not geography. Now come with me. I am going to put right a travesty by introducing you to fondue, and get us both out of the cold.”

  Mark fell into step with Steffen as they headed down a side street away from the main square. “I don’t really like cheese.”

  “Be careful what you admit to, Mark. I may have to turn you in to the Swiss Milk Federation, and you will be escorted to the nearest border, never to be allowed to return.”

  “After the day I’ve had, I’d go willingly.”

  “Then let us hope our evening makes up for it. I will let you in on a highly prized and guarded secret: there are more types of fondue apart from cheese.”

  Mark didn’t know why, but he hadn’t expected Steffen to be so playful. Whether this was normal or he was being especially upbeat, Mark wasn’t about to complain. “Now I know, will you have to kill me?”

  “I have revealed one of my country’s darkest secrets. We are in this together. But if the Polizei come… you are on your own.”

  Mark laughed, Steffen’s humor washing away the day’s troubles. The evening was beginning to feel more like a date, but he hadn’t been on one for over a year, and even then, going for a curry at the local Indian restaurant with his now ex-boyfriend hadn’t been much to write home about. A glimmer of excitement bubbled up inside him, something he hadn’t experienced from going to dinner with someone for a very long time, and Mark decided to let himself enjoy it.

  The restaurant Steffen had chosen was one Mark had spotted but not yet had the opportunity to try. He followed Steffen inside, the restaurant darker than he’d expected, with soft lighting barely making much impact thanks to the mahogany wood paneling. The smell of melted cheese hit him as he got a few steps farther in. It wasn’t unpleasant like the sweaty-feet cheese he’d encountered at a Raclette stand
, but it wasn’t wholly pleasant either as it mingled with odors of cooked meat and wine. Steffen must have been a regular, because the waiter greeted him warmly and showed them to what was referred to as Steffen’s üblicher Tisch. Whatever that was, Mark was pleased to be shown to a table in the corner, out of the way of other customers, of which there were more than he’d expected for a cold Tuesday evening.

  “How often do you come here?” Mark asked after the waiter left them with the menus.

  “Fairly often. I have a lot of international clients, and they like to experience something Swiss while they are in Basel.” Steffen put his menu down. “And my sister’s husband is a silent partner, so it never hurts to help the family.”

  “Now we get the true picture. Everything boils down to nepotism in the end.”

  “Oh yes, it is almost a national pastime. But they would not have been forgiving if we had been any later—the late running of a tram can only shoulder so much blame.”

  Mark couldn’t let the opportunity to poke fun escape, and from what he’d seen so far, Steffen would take it in his stride. “Are you a walking stereotype? A Swiss man obsessed by being late. Should I expect you to eat with a Swiss Army knife and yodel our dinner order?”

  Steffen smirked and leaned over the table. “There is nothing wrong with being punctual, Mark. I’ll have you know many men have commented on my timing as being perfect.”

  Mark didn’t know how to answer that. In his early twenties, that could have easily been a line he’d have used, but over a decade later, he was the one left tongue-tied and blushing. He scanned the menu to cover his awkwardness. He hadn’t been aware fondue came in so many variations. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “Why don’t you order? I haven’t a clue what I’m even looking at.”

  “You can trust me—at least on this.”

  Mark couldn’t help but think there were many things he would trust Steffen with, despite having only met the man the day before. Steffen managed to catch a waiter’s attention and ordered in a stream of German that Mark recognized at most one out of ten words, but as far as he could tell there was no mention of cheese, and the wine Steffen ordered was red.

  He suspected the efficiency of the service was linked to Steffen, as he noticed diners at other tables were less successful at flagging down a waiter. Another thing that had surprised him: he’d expected ruthless efficiency to pervade all levels of Swiss life, but that hadn’t been his experience so far. The wine arrived and was poured, and Mark scrabbled for a way to restart the easy conversation after his teasing had diverted them in a direction he hadn’t expected.

  “Are you passing off having dinner with me as a business expense?” he asked. Seeing Steffen’s puzzled expression, Mark added, “You know, as another one of your clients?”

  Steffen took a sip of his wine, then ran his tongue over his lips. “You think I invited you out for dinner because of our mutual business dealings?”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure why you did.”

  Steffen set his wine back on the table and grinned. “I want to fuck you.”

  Mark choked on his wine. Jesus, he’d thought his boss was direct, but compared to Steffen, she was like a motorway diversion on a public holiday. “What?” he croaked out.

  It hadn’t been the first time someone had said that to him, but it had been in a dark corner of a club, or whispered under a duvet. Certainly not in the middle of a restaurant.

  “I see my directness may have left you a little uncomfortable, but I have long believed straightforward talking is far better than a circuitous route. You are an attractive single gay man who has a temporary assignment here. I thought you might appreciate the offer.”

  Steffen’s tone was sincere, if not a little playful, and Mark would be lying if he were to say he wasn’t interested in Steffen’s proposition, or that he hadn’t considered Steffen as a potential bed partner. Steffen was a good-looking guy, and Mark had been single for over a year, so it was only natural his mind would head in that direction. His traitorous cock had certainly perked up at the prospect, spurred on by his own recollections of his youth. Would it be so wrong to live a little while he was away from home?

  But it was the delivery that had stolen his words, and possibly his good sense along with them. “I wasn’t expecting—”

  The arrival of what looked like a small cauldron stopped Mark mid answer. Which was a relief, since he didn’t really have anything to continue the sentence he had started, failing to come up with a witty response, or even a semicoherent one. A waiter fiddled with a contraption under the metal cooking pot, and a ring of blue flames burst into life. Another waiter appeared, carrying a tray covered in little plates with different sauces and a larger plate piled high with thin slices of raw meat. The final piece to grace the table was a canister containing six long metal forks. Mark thought the waiter was going to launch into an explanation, since Mark was sure he was wearing a bemused expression, but Steffen waved the waiter away with a polite dismissal.

  Steffen picked up a fork. “So now we start your education in fondue.” He speared a piece of meat and placed it into the pot. “In here is extremely hot oil, and it cooks the meat in a minute or two, and then you dip it into the sauce of your choice. You have them staggered to create a steady supply.”

  Mark followed Steffen’s instructions. The food was good, but he wasn’t interested in eating, waiting instead for Steffen to return to their previous conversation. Maybe Steffen thought he had shocked him, which to be fair, he had, but having had a few moments to think about it, he wasn’t against the idea. Far from it. Work had crippled his social life, and his last boyfriend had dumped him when Mark had cancelled on him for a fifth time due to yet another unavoidable work emergency.

  “I do appreciate the offer.”

  Steffen dipped a piece of chicken into the garlic mayonnaise. “For my explanation of fondue? Really, there’s no need.”

  The bastard smirked.

  “You know that’s not what I was talking about.” Mark hadn’t been so bold in years, but Steffen’s directness gave him the freedom to act the same, and he found himself wanting to do so. “The attraction isn’t one-way.”

  “Yet I sense some reticence.”

  Steffen wasn’t wrong. Mark had turned his back on the casual fucking he’d enjoyed, looking for stability and constancy when it came to the men in his life, and leaving behind his callowness of unthinkingly following his cock’s desire. Whereas Steffen wore an easy charm that suggested casual and fleeting was his usual MO.

  Mark had two and a half months left in Basel, and the idea of several weeks of no strings attached sex was as exhilarating as it was nerve-racking. It was the kind of offer his younger self would’ve jumped at—but he wasn’t that man anymore, and he wasn’t sure he could be again. “I wouldn’t say reticence.”

  “No? Then perhaps my English is rusty, as I do not have a better word for it.”

  “Okay, you’ve a point. But you have to understand that it’s not every day that an attractive man states so bluntly that he wants to fuck me.”

  “Then the men in the UK are stupid. Or you are not mixing with the right type of men.”

  Steffen wasn’t completely wrong. The truth was he had spent his university days shagging about, enjoying the writhing mass of bodies in the clubs and gay bars. At the time he’d loved the anonymous and varied encounters, but then he’d decided he needed to grow up and join the adult world. Suit, tie, steady job, and long-term boyfriend, with cozy Friday nights in and dinners for two, not body shots and glory holes. “I gave up clubbing after university. These days I don’t go to the type of places where men go to keep things casual.”

  Steffen seemed to consider his response before replying. “So it would be the fleeting nature of our encounters that would bother you?”

  “Possibly. I suppose my needs changed, and I wanted more than the emptiness of another hollow shag.” It felt like an important admission, something he’d never talked ab
out before, but it needed to be said to explain why he wasn’t dragging Steffen out of the restaurant and back to his lodgings. “The only one-night stand I’ve had in the last ten years turned into a yearlong relationship. I hadn’t planned it. It just sort of happened.”

  Steffen waved a piece of veal in his direction. “I cannot give you permanence.”

  “I’m not asking for it,” Mark added quickly, and he meant it.

  “What I am hearing is you are not against the theory of enjoying a few weeks of fun before you return home. But equally, I am not convinced you are fully in favor either. If you do not wish this, we will finish our dinner, shake hands, and depart as friends. You are not beholden, either way.”

  Steffen wasn’t offering an anonymous shag. It wasn’t thanks for the fuck, now fuck off, but instead something in the middle. Mark’s love life had been in the doldrums since John left, ostensibly because Mark’s job had eaten away any free time and John had decided enough was enough. He didn’t have any more free time now, and that wasn’t going to change, which would no doubt annoy any new boyfriend, so why not take Steffen up on his offer? He picked up his wine and took a sip of liquid courage. “Throw in being my personal tour guide of the city and I’m in.”

  Steffen offered up his wineglass in a toast. “I plan to give Basel Tourism Office a run for their money.”

  Mark copied and took a sip of his wine. Never had agreeing to sleep with someone felt so formal, borderline making a business deal. But somehow it didn’t feel wrong; instead it was as though he was entering something that didn’t require constant renegotiation. He would know where he stood with Steffen. Sex, hopefully very good sex, if he was lucky, and he suspected Steffen’s experience might make up for his own rusty skills and help polish them up nicely. “Let’s hope I don’t find you lacking—I’d hate to leave a terrible review on TripAdvisor.”

  “Oh, there are plenty of people who can attest to my abilities.” Steffen waggled his eyebrows. “I will give you my personal guarantee that you will not find me wanting—in any capacity.”